


tonight will be a memory too

by carryyourownbanner



Series: sprace one-shots [4]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, literally just mindless sprace fluff, race is a bit lost in the clouds but spot brings him back down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryyourownbanner/pseuds/carryyourownbanner
Summary: “As I remember it, you like fast.”“Not when I’m losing.”





	tonight will be a memory too

Race’s earliest memory is in the kitchen. With his papa, of course, in Italy, in who-knows-what town. It’s too long ago for him to remember and there’s no one left who can tell him. 

He remembers being held- at just two, maybe three years old- by his father, who’s measuring the ingredients something or another. Race can’t remember what it was, either, but he does remember it smelled good. It smelled like home.

But that was a very long time ago.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Cigar smoke paints the pink sky grey as he and Spot sit on the roof of the Brooklyn lodging house. Race really hadn’t noticed the silence- Spot has a point, though. He’s barely said two words since they both came up here.

“I’m thinking.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

Race nudges him, frowning with faux annoyance. “Be nice.”

He’s treated to an endearing smile. “Okay, okay,” he says. “What about?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re never thinking about nothing, Racer.”

He smiles, putting his cigar out. “I thought I didn’t know how?“

“Ah, shut it. What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” he assures him quickly. “‘m just... thinking. About when I was little.”

Spot snorts. “I don’t think you was ever little, Racer.”

“ _You_ still are.”

“That was uncalled for, baby.”

“Come on, I had to.”

Race feels Spot’s lips against his neck, and he touches the spot with his fingertips just after the warmth’s gone. He wants to devote every detail of this evening to memory.

“I love you, Spot.”

“I love you too... are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m with you. I’m fine. Just thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“My dad, the strike.”

Spot looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Your dad? You’ve... never talked about him before.”

Race shrugs. “I don’t have much to say.”

“Why’s he on your mind, then?”

“It was when I was little, like I said. Don’t remember much.”

“Do you miss him?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to miss him.”

“I know. Thank you, tesoro.”

“Tesoro? I don’t speak French.”

“It’s Italian, you nitwit.”

“I know, Tony. ‘S just funny to see you get all offended.”

“It is  not .”

“Actually, it’s  _hilarious_. ”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He laughs, and Race is pulled in by a strong hand at the back of his neck for a kiss. Race almost forgets to kiss back. Spot pauses.

“You still okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re all... cloudy. Usually I can’t get you offa’ me up here.”

Race snickers, putting his hand on Spot’s thigh. “It’s just nice to sit and talk for a minute. Things are goin’ fast.”

“As I remember it, you like fast.” He winks.

“Not when I’m losing.”

He frowns. “Losing?”

Shaking his head, he says, “I’m almost eighteen now, and look where I am. There’s nothing for kids like us and I know it but- I don’t know. I just wish...”

“Yeah, Racer?”

He hesitates. “I wish I could’ve gone to school, or... ‘ve known my parents. I wish- I wish I didn’t have to go back to Manhattan tonight instead of staying here with you, all because we’re both kids in charge of  littler kids who’ll end up just the same,” he says, fiddling with his cigar. “I don’t think any of us ever get to be ‘kids’.”

“But you remember being one. With your dad? In the kitchen?”

Race nods. “Yeah. But not everyone has that- do you?”

“I can hear my mama singing lullabies, sometimes, in my sleep.”

He looks at him, raising an eyebrow. It’s such an uncharacteristic thing for him to disclose- he really should be used to it by now, though; Spot’s a different person altogether to those who can knock down his walls. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s  real .”

“Do you miss her?”

“There’s nothing to miss. Except a voice. It’s hard to miss a voice.”

“It’s really not. Didn’t she hold you?”

“Probably. Don’t remember.”

Race squeezes his hand. “Good thing you’ve got me to hold you, then.”

“A’ight, mama.”

“Ew. Do me a favor and never _ever_ say that again.”

Spot chuckles, taking Race’s hat off and tucking a blonde curl behind his ear.

“You need a haircut.”

“I know it. Can you do it for me?”

“Sure, I could find time for that.”

“Thank you, babydoll.”

Spot fixes him with a pensive look. He frowns.

“About what you said- about not getting to be a kid.”

“What about it?”

“Why don’t you try it for once?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Stay here tonight. Jack can handle them, you’re only the second in command, and they’ll know where you are.”

That’s a magic word if Race has ever heard one- stay. It’s like a siren’s song; he’s transfixed. And when someone he already can’t say no to sings it... “ _You're_ the king, though.”

“No one said _I_ was going anywhere.”

He pauses.

“So?”

Alright.

“You don’t need to ask me again.”

The sky’s clear and it’s private enough, so they share plenty more kisses and trade a few looks until they’re on the concrete surface of the rooftop with a flannel, a vest, and two hats and shirts for cushioning as they hold each other and watch the sky darken.

Thus his favorite memory is on a rooftop, somewhere in Brooklyn, where he waits for the moonrise with a boy he can’t live without. 


End file.
